


Niima's

by fantastic_fanatics



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantastic_fanatics/pseuds/fantastic_fanatics
Summary: Though Niima's is a questionable establishment, it's always been Ben's favorite bar. It's not just because he's inexplicably attracted to the new bartender, either - though he has to admit she might have something to do with it.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23
Collections: For one is both and both are one in love: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	Niima's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bensolosredemption](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bensolosredemption/gifts).



> For the wonderful Reylo Fanfiction Anthology! Super happy to be a part of this exchange as it is my first time participating in anything like it :) I hope everyone enjoys! <3

A cold front was moving in. Usually, Ben didn’t particularly mind it; he had more than enough layers of fine, dark clothes which sometimes overly warmed him in the spring and summer. Tonight was different, though. Tonight, he was miserably tired and unfathomably angry and he huffed as he walked, charging through his own clouds of frozen breath. The tips of his nose and ears burned like the icy rage in his heart, and he all but stormed into the shitty bar called Niima’s.

It was a dump on the furthest edge of the city. Hux always turned his nose up at the mention of the place, like he couldn’t wrap his scowling ginger brain around the idea of slumming it such a third-rate establishment. He knew damn well that Ben could afford the expensive stuff, the top-shelf reserves that not even Phasma considered, and it sometimes seemed that he took Ben’s drinking habits as a personal offense. It actually was, to a certain extent; Ben really fucking hated going out with the whole lot of his First Order coworkers, and if there was any place left in the world where he could seek refuge from them, he’d be there for every one of his leisurely seconds.

Niima’s fit the bill just fine.

-

The door burst open, and a rush of air cooled the room. Though she wasn’t exactly wearing much—Unkar Plutt’s vision of a skimpy, bartending getup—Rey couldn’t help but feel grateful for the cold blast. Plutt had cranked up the heater as if there _weren’t_ enough warm bodies in the bar to effectively heat the smallish space. Nobody else complained, though; they were all too drunk to care.

A moment after the door regretfully thudded shut, lumbering steps heaved toward the bar. Rey, vigorously sloshing a cocktail in a metal mixer, flicked her eyes up at the man who all but dumped himself onto a stool at the very corner of the countertop. His face was fixed into a visceral scowl, and when he briefly met her gaze, Rey swore she could see flames roaring in his eyes.

Maker, he needed a drink.

-

The new bartender smiled at him. Ben was enough of a regular—and she had enough of an outstanding figure—that he knew she’d probably just picked up the job in the last week or so. Her warm brown eyes matched the shade of her hair, which was half drawn up into a bun, and she had freckles that livened her otherwise pale face. Some of the coldness burrowing inside of Ben melted. He couldn’t help but watch her as she shook a drink over her shoulder and poured it out for a young woman at the other end of the bar. When she turned towards him, he quickly averted his gaze. He was certain she’d already been subjected to the creepy attentions of creepy men, and Ben was _not_ a creepy man.

“Rough day, was it?”

Having made her way over to him, her voice broke through the low drone of the bar noise like sunlight pouring in from the heavens. She had a British accent. Normally, Ben was rather indifferent towards things like that, but his face suddenly felt _hot_.

He glanced up at her, clearing his throat. When he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. She looked at him expectantly, a small smile playing at her pinkish lips, but all he could do was frown and nod. A part of him vaguely wondered why the hell he was so socially inept.

The bartender didn’t seem deterred, though, and he took it as a small win. She smiled at him warmly once more. “What’ll it be, then?” she asked. “You strike me as the bourbon type.”

“B-bourbon—that works,” he stuttered gruffly.

“Expensive side? We’ve got Pappy and Woodford.”

“No.” He shook his head, sighing slightly. He was in no state to appreciate the finer things. “The cheap shit is fine.”

She laughed lightly. “Cheap shit coming right up.”

Ben felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

-

The man came back to the bar several times the following week. Every night he came in, he downed his drink and seemed to relax a bit. Some of the tension in his shoulders—which were insanely broad, Rey thought—dissipated, and the angry expression he wore softened into one of mild annoyance. He was quite handsome. His dark hair was perfectly wavy, his jaw was strong, his eyes were deep and enticing. Stealing glances at him every now and then was a pleasant distraction from the other, less-than-desirable bar patrons. Chagrin consistently bubbled up in her as she found herself consistently hoping he’d stay for another hour or two.

Tonight, she poured him another. He’d only said a few words to her in the course of all their interactions; his voice was deliciously dark and smooth. Like bourbon. Maybe she could coax some more conversation out of him.

“I’m Rey,” she informed him as she slid his drink over. If he was a proper regular, she may as well get on a first-name basis with him, after all.

He brought the glass to his lips and sipped. His motions were very deliberate, and he seemed to be thinking out his response for a solid moment. The poor man. “Ben Solo,” he finally told her.

_Ben Solo,_ she mused. It sounded like the name of some charming rogue. “Good to meet you, Ben Solo.”

“Careful,” he said. “‘Good’ might be too generous.”

“Might it?” She propped her elbows up on the counter, resting her head in her hands.

He seemed a bit taken aback by the action, probably expecting her to awkwardly shrink back at his comment, but he managed to soldier forward anyway. “Most people find me off-putting.”

“We all have our moments.” She shrugged. She certainly didn’t find him off-putting, but she supposed that not everyone was as comfortable with anger and silence as she was.

Ben chuckled darkly and downed the rest of his bourbon in a single gulp. “I have several _moments,_ as it were.”

“Care to share? I’m practically a shrink back here.”

“I already have a shrink,” he deadpanned.

_Oh_. That was what she got for being stupidly bold, she supposed. Mortification set in, her mouth falling open, ready to let words of apology tumble out, but he cut her off before she could begin.

“Don’t worry about it.” He cracked a smile. “He’s not very good—I’ve been thinking about finding somebody else. Maybe this is the right place. If you get me drunk enough, anyway.”

Straightening up and grinning widely, Rey passed him a small plastic water bottle. Then, she refilled his glass.

-

Ben had always been a regular at Niima’s, but he found himself there more and more frequently. He wasn’t an alcoholic by any means; sometimes he didn’t even drink—he’d just sit there, drowning out his thoughts with the dull roar of the pub-goers and watching whatever news or sports event that was being broadcast on the television.

He was quite drunk tonight, though. He couldn’t remember the last time he had talked this much, especially to a near-perfect stranger of a bartender. Rey certainly was perfect, though, and he certainly hoped she wouldn’t be a stranger for much longer.

“They’re just— _impossible_ to work with,” he rambled. “No matter what I do, they find some way to pick it apart until it all collapses. My boss keeps parading me around like I’m his prodigal son or something, and all it’s done is put a target on my back. Phasma wants to watch me drown in paperwork, and Hux—fuck, don’t even get me _started_ about Hux. Ginger bastard.”

“That’s what I call my cat,” Rey informed him good-naturedly. “A fat ginger bastard.”

Ben chuckled and grinned. “You have a cat?” When she nodded, turning to wipe down the bar counter while remaining within earshot, he continued. “I’ve never had any pets. My parents—well, they hardly had enough time to take care of me, let alone a pet. And now I don’t spend enough time at home to warrant a pet. It wouldn’t be fair to them, you know? To force them to be alone all the time. But I like cats.”

At least two hours had passed since he’d first walked into the bar, and though the place didn’t close for another hour, it had already emptied out for the most part. Rey paused from cleaning up the counter and looked over at Ben, a thoughtful look splayed across her face.

“Being lonely is no good,” she said.

Something about her voice made Ben feel heavy, and he spoke before thinking. “Do you get lonely, Rey?”

-

She was going to have to order this poor man a cab. He wasn’t terribly drunk, but he was in absolutely no condition to drive. Though he had been almost painfully quiet earlier on, a mess of words fell from his lips—which Rey had admittedly caught herself staring at more than once—too quickly for her to entirely process.

When he asked her the question, though, his voice was clear. _Do you get lonely, Rey?_

His gaze was suddenly intense, and she squirmed beneath it. She was entirely used to carrying people’s emotional baggage, listening to their alcohol-laden confessions late into the night, but the conversation rarely ever turned back on her.

“I do,” she admitted. “But that’s alright. That’s human. We all get lonely, sometimes.”

Ben stared at her intently. “You’re not alone,” he told her softly.

There was something about him—maybe his voice or his expression—that made her reach out to him. She set her hand on his. “Neither are you.”

-

They ended up in the single-stall bathroom one night when he stuck around as she closed down the bar. Neither of them knew quite how long they spent as a tangle of limbs and lips, but he had her pressed up against the wall, and she had him pressed up into her. They devoured each other, trailing hot kisses down their necks. He tugged at her hair. She dug her nails into his back. They had been painfully tired before all this, and neither of them were drunk. Now, though, they felt more awake than they had in as long as either of them could remember.

-

Ben never got into barfights. 

And he never got helplessly emotionally attached to pretty bartenders, either.

Yet, there he was, looming over a sniveling little man who clutched his newly-broken nose and wailed pathetically. There was a moment of silence surrounding them as the occupants of Niima’s looked on in awe, and then the room erupted into deafening chaos.

Unkar Plutt, the bar owner, roared at Ben, who wasn’t really listening to him, and then to the patrons, who were all also roaring at Ben, who wasn’t really listening to them, either. Ben rubbed his knuckles, his skin still stinging from the impact of his fist against the sniveling little man’s face.

He turned to Rey. Her hair, kept away from her concern-blanketed face, was pulled up into buns. It was a strange hairstyle, Ben thought, but he found it increasingly endearing the more that she wore it. He met her eyes when he spoke. “Don’t let anyone speak to you like that,” he ordered.

The concern in her eyes seemed to vanish then. She steeled her expression. “He’s drunk, Ben.”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s a disgusting fucking creep.”

“No,” Rey all but spat, “but that doesn’t excuse the fact that _you_ are being needlessly belligerent.”

Unkar Plutt reached to grab Ben’s arm, but he shrugged the attempt off and shot the old man a threatening glare. “ _Needlessly belligerent?_ Are you serious?”

“I am,” she said coldly. “I don’t appreciate mindless brawls in my bar.”

“Rey, I—”

“There’ll be a cab outside for you in a few minutes. You should go wait for it.”

He looked at her hopelessly for a moment. Rey broke her gaze away from his, and he turned himself out to the cold.

-

Rey didn’t see Ben for a few days after that. It was strange, almost, working her shifts without him as a half-silent companion. She’d become quite accustomed to his presence over the last few weeks.

When he did finally return, he didn’t get any alcohol—just a club soda. He fixated all of his attention on the TV screen to the right of the bar. Rey wasn’t sure if she was more upset over the fact that he’d stopped showing up or the fact that now that he had come back, he was entirely wordless.

Eventually, he left. Rey tried not to think about how that made her feel.

-

“I owe you an apology.”

Ben spoke quietly, but his voice was firm. He didn’t order a drink. He hadn’t ordered a drink in nearly a week; he didn’t want Rey to think he was a violent drunk. The apology had been on the tip of his tongue every single night since he punched the man that dared remark about Rey’s breasts, but it had died every time he caught her glancing at him, eyes burning. The fuck was he sorry for, anyway? He was defending her against a fucking pervert.

Tonight, though, he was tired of being angry. He missed their conversations. He missed the feeling of her hand on his, assuring him that she was there for him. He missed the connection he felt whenever they conversed. It was time to kick the damn bucket and surrender to her.

She looked at him, and though she didn’t actually speak, her expression said it all.

“The truth is,” Ben started, “I like this bar. But I don’t come here every night for the ambiance, you know?”

She kept looking at him.

“I come here all the time because I like _you,_ Rey. And I know that doesn’t excuse my bad behavior, or anything, but I just—listening to that _fuck_ talk to you like that… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have escalated the situation like that. It was admittedly a little excessive.”

“A little excessive?” Rey scoffed, but it almost sounded like a laugh. “You broke his nose and fractured his cheekbone because he said I have small tits.”

Ben’s cheeks burned. “He didn’t have any right to say shit like that.”

“Ben—”

“But,” he interrupted, “I understand your anger with me. If you’ll let me, though, I’d like to make it up to you somehow.”

Rey quirked an eyebrow. “And how would you propose to do that?”

“Let me take you out for breakfast tomorrow.” She worked most nights, so dinner was already out. Besides, she’d mentioned her affinity for syrup-slathered French toast and coffee before. “There’s this diner a few blocks away. I think you’d like it.”

“Breakfast?” Rey repeated at him. She seemed far less upset, now, but Ben still held his breath.

“Yes,” he confirmed. He pulled out a little slip of paper that he’d written his number on before coming in. “You can give me a call whenever you get off, tonight. Or whenever you wake up tomorrow. If you’d like, I mean.”

After a long moment, she took the paper from him and nodded.

-

Rey called him early the next morning, and they got breakfast. Ben was very gentlemanly the whole time, and his efforts to atone tugged at her heartstrings. It was nice to see him during daylight hours.

They packed away an impressive amount of food together, laughing all the while. After, they strolled around the city hand-in-hand. They planned out their second date as they walked along.

“So,” Ben said. “Am I forgiven?”

Rey grinned up at him. She reached up to touch his cheek, standing on her tiptoes and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“You are absolutely forgiven.”


End file.
